


reunions and headaches

by haetae



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Getting Together, Head Injury, Love Confessions, M/M, Mentions of Other Scions, Mild Blood, Minor canon divergence, Romantic Fluff, Trans Male Character, minor stabbing, nbd nbd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-12 00:11:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17456927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haetae/pseuds/haetae
Summary: “You,” Masaki growls.“Me,” Thancred replies with an edge of confusion, unsure if Masaki will suddenly attack him or not.Masaki shakes him a little.--Sometimes, reuniting with old comrades brings headaches.





	reunions and headaches

**Author's Note:**

> s/o to [WingsOfTime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WingsOfTime/pseuds/WingsOfTime) for beta'ing this! \o/

It’s been three days since they’ve gotten Y’shtola back from the Lifestream. Three days since she had materialized out of thin air, bare as the day of her birth, only to be immediately spirited away for the chirurgeons to inspect.

Y’shtola is to wake any day now and everyone—Tataru, Alphinaud, Y’mhitra, Urianger, and Masaki—has been waiting on pins and needles.

Masaki rubs his eyes. Y’mhitra’s tail keeps thumping against the wall. Alphinaud pays no mind to anyone as he paces around the waiting room frantically, muttering to himself about something. Tataru is chewing on her nails and leaning against Masaki’s side—maybe to steal his warmth and comfort herself. Urianger is utterly quiet, not even bothering to distract himself with a tome.

The chronometer hanging against the wall ticks ominously.

Then, finally, an exhausted, white-robed woman emerges from Y’shtola’s room. As one, the Scions and Y’mhitra jump to their feet.

The chirurgeon startles slightly, as if she’s too tired to be fully startled by the sudden movement. She’s clearly holding back a yawn when she begins to speak.

“Lady Y’shtola is awake. She is currently underweight from her days of unconsciousness, and she’ll need to be put on a soft diet until we’re _certain_ that her stomach hasn’t been affected by her trip in the Lifestream.”

Then she pauses to yawn.

“Please go see her.”

It feels as though the room breathes a great sigh of relief, even if most of them share sheepish looks.

Alphinaud tentatively pats Urianger’s back―he has been dangerously quiet and Alphinaud is a little worried―as Y’mhitra is shepherded into her sister’s room by Masaki and Tataru. Though they crowd inside it, they are careful not to do so around the newly awakened Y’shtola.

Y’mhitra is by her side immediately, holding her hand. “Shtola…”

Y’shtola grins in her sister’s direction, tilting her head. “Forgive me for the scare, Mhitra.”

Y’mhitra can’t help but snort.

“Please, do try and warn me before you start casting ancient spells of that magnitude.” she says. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that Archon rogue has rubbed off on you too much.”

The sisters share a laugh over that, and the rest of the Scions can’t help but smile.

Masaki looks away.

* * *

He is on edge.

The Dravanian Hinterlands’ unusually beautiful scenery has done nothing to soothe his frazzled nerves. Not even Matoya’s familiar stern manner can snap him out of… whatever this crazed, harried feeling is. Y’shtola is here and _alive alive alive_ and he should be _happy_ about that―and he _is_ ―but Thancred is still missing. Minfilia is still missing. Yda and Papalymo are still missing. It won’t be the same until they’re all back safe and sound.

It doesn’t help that he never got to tell Thancred that…

He forces himself to think of something else, like the fact that they’re finally meeting Krile Mayer Baldesion in person. After hearing about her from Minfilia, he—his train of thought stops abruptly. Right. Minfilia isn’t here.

Masaki’s heart breaks into a million pieces for Krile upon that thought.

 _Her best friend would be here if you had been paying attention_ , a nasty voice hisses in his head. He can’t argue against it.

Instead, he greets Krile with what he hopes is a soft, friendly grin. It grows a fraction when she smiles back at him. It grows a little more when she begins to share embarrassing stories about Alphinaud during his schooling days.

If Y’shtola notices the anxiety Masaki keeps bottling up, she doesn’t say anything about it―for the moment. But she gently corners him later, while Krile is still relentlessly teasing Alphinaud.

“Have you been sleeping much?” she asks innocently.

Masaki jumps nearly ten fulms in the air. He tries to hide his guilty wince with a sheepish shrug.

Y’shtola hums. Masaki breaks out into a cold sweat.

“We will find him.” Y’shtola murmurs. There is no judgment in her tone. Something in her stance softens, and she gently pats his shoulder.

Masaki turns to her with a fragile little noise. She just manages to catch it over the sound of Alphinaud’s embarrassed squeaking.

Y’shtola is very glad that she sees nothing but aether now, because she thinks she would not be able to stand the look on Masaki’s face if she could make it out.

But she can see the little sparks outlining the vague shape of his body, the way his general mass pulses rapidly like a nervous heartbeat, the curling and uncurling flickers of fire-aspected aether at what she presumes are his fingertips. He is so full of hope that she is sure he will break if they cannot find Thancred.

Which, obviously, is an unacceptable outcome.

“I promise,” she says, gently.

* * *

Their party watches in quiet horror and awe as Ravana dissipates into aether.

Alphinaud, seizing the opportunity, is about to introduce himself when Masaki holds up an arm to stop him. A protest hangs on the tip of Alphinaud’s tongue until he sees the look on Masaki’s face: _fear_.

Masaki has never been afraid of anything before.

It makes Alphinaud step back out of shock. That’s all the warning he gets before everything erupts into chaos.

Masaki _snarls_ like a feral beast and throws himself in front of Alphinaud, barely managing to put up a manaward shield just before a roegadyn crashes into him and sends him tumbling into the dirt. Before Alphinaud can even reach for his grimoire, Y’shtola casts a barrier against a sudden rain of arrows above their heads. Alphinaud tenses himself when a miqo’te aims an arrow at them.

No one is prepared for the Flare that suddenly explodes in the middle of all four of them.

Alphinaud is thrown back by the powerful explosion. Y’shtola and Krile cry out from somewhere far away. Masaki is nowhere to be found. Gods above, was he caught up in the middle of the explosion?

Then Alphinaud’s vision clears.

Thank the Twelve—Masaki is lying just a few fulms away. Alphinaud tries to get to his feet, when something catches his attention.

The hyur staring directly at Masaki’s prone form slowly reaches up and unclasps the bloodied axe from his back. Alphinaud feels his blood freeze.

Then the hyur is rushing at his friend, who isn’t _getting up_ , and Alphinaud is frozen in place and he wants to _scream_ —

“ _No_ —!”

A dagger whizzes through where the hyur’s head would’ve been had he not jerked out of the way just in time. He scowls up towards whoever has interrupted him from his kill.

Alphinaud follows his line of sight to see a vaguely familiar, silver-haired figure perched on a stalactite. Then he spots the Archon tattoo on the figure’s neck, and it clicks. “Thancred!”

He _swears_ he can see the rogue nod. He backflips off his perch and immediately clashes with the hyuran warrior.

Thancred is unexpectedly _vicious_ as he parries the warrior’s axe. He stabs at the other hyur as if he is… as if he is trying to _kill_ him. But the warrior shoves Thancred off of him, and holds—he’s holding a _Crystal of Light_ aloft! The miqo’te and roegadyn have one as well! Alphinaud stares in awe as each mysterious attacker uses their Crystal to teleport elsewhere in a sudden blink of light.

“We are the Warriors of Darkness—do not stand in our way again.” the hyuran warrior warns.

And then he is gone too.

Alphinaud only realizes he’s picking his jaw up from the ground when Y’shtola helps him to his feet.

He frantically begins to search for Masaki. His shoulders tense when he catches sight of Thancred―who seems to have an eyepatch (when did he get that?)―holding up Masaki, whose gaze is as unsteady as his balance. There’s a worrying amount of blood dripping from his forehead.

“We need to move. _Quickly_.” Y’shtola urges.

“No need to tell me twice.” Thancred replies. As if on cue, they all hear enraged Gnath howling in the distance.

Alphinaud shudders and nods vigorously. He wholeheartedly agrees.

* * *

“‘M _fine_.” Masaki warbles in protest.

“No, you are not.” Thancred snaps. “You’re _bleeding_ from your head, Masaki.”

“Is _Mongke_.” Masaki slurs.

Everyone stops in their tracks to stare at him.

“Name’s Mongke.” he repeats, staring back as if they are being particularly slow.

“Alright then, we’re going to start treatment earlier than expected,” Y’shtola says. “We should have gained enough distance by now―set him down here so I can begin posthaste.”

Thancred obediently sits Masaki down on the boulder she has indicated, and helps keep him upright by holding his shoulders as Y’shtola sits beside him with her medical supplies.

Masaki whines the entire time, but suddenly stills when he sees a pale green light enveloping Y’shtola’s hands.

The unnatural glow of healing aether washes over him. It feels as though he is being dunked in cold water, the initial shock and uncomfortable, lingering chill included.

Y’shtola’s aether is usually refreshing, like a sprig of mint. But for some inexplicable reason, it intensifies when she heals or uses white magic. And Masaki _hates_ the feel of healing magic; it feels more invasive than cooperative, most of the time. This time is no different, despite him constantly reassuring himself that Y’shtola is a _friend_ who is trying to help him. Masaki squirms in his seat, but manages to grit his teeth and keep still for the most part.

Thankfully, the sensation ends what feels like centuries later. He lets out the breath he’s been holding for gods know how long.

“Tis done.” Y’shtola says, lowering her hands. “Hopefully we will not need to fight off any more strange people or insectoid primals on our way back.”

Masaki gingerly touches his forehead. His fingers come away a little tacky with leftover blood, but otherwise dry. He’s about to wipe the rest of it off when he feels someone tipping his head up.

Thancred stares down at him, giving a sympathetic tut. He licks his thumb and wipes Masaki’s bloody forehead, surprisingly gentle in his ministrations. Masaki can only stare stupidly back. Then it finally clicks in his head that this is _Thancred_ , the man they have all been looking for during the past few days.

Masaki springs to his feet, nearly headbutting the rogue in the process.

Thancred swears. Someone―Krile (right; she’s here)―snorts behind a fake cough, but Masaki is entirely too focused on Thancred to care. He grips his arms, using his height to loom over him. Thancred blinks at him in surprise.

“ _You_ ,” Masaki growls.

“Me,” Thancred replies with an edge of confusion, unsure if Masaki will suddenly attack him or not.

Masaki shakes him a little.

“You were _gone!_ ” he yells, desperately. “I… I lost you―y-you were _gone!_ An’, an’…”

His throat already feels so _sore_ , and his eyes feel hot and prickly, and no one is saying anything, and―Masaki makes some terrible, choked off noise. Tears begin dripping down his cheeks in earnest, much to his horror, but he can’t stop crying for some stupid reason. He’s being so stupid.

He lets go of Thancred to scrub at his face.

No one says anything for an awkward minute. This isn’t like anything they have dealt with before. Masaki doesn’t _raise_ his voice at anyone, let alone have an emotional outburst.

“… I lost you. An’ I was so…” he babbles in-between sniffles and muffled sobs. Why is he breaking down in front of them when they have just found Thancred again? He should―he should be _happy,_ but he won’t stop crying, and he keeps ruining things and making things awkward for everyone and―!

There’s nothing but his sniffling for a long, uncomfortable moment. Then Krile jabs Alphinaud in the ribs with a pointy elbow. He yelps, coughs, and clears his throat.

“Masaki… Mongke—whichever name you want to go by,” Alphinaud begins. Masaki wants to disappear into a hole and never come out, because he’s done a _great_ job of being his stupid, stupid self thus far. “Do… do you want a hug? Will that help?”

Y’shtola raises an unimpressed eyebrow in Alphinaud’s direction. She is not sure if hugging will help matters. Even Masaki doesn’t seem too keen on the idea, judging from the way his aether flares at the question.

Nevertheless, he inhales sharply, wiping at his face as best as he can.

“No. Jus’… need t’calm down.” he hiccups. “S’rry. S’rry.”

“No need to apologize for your tears, dear.”

He thinks that might be Krile trying to awkwardly comfort him. He shakes his head. It’s already bad enough they’re seeing him cry like a child. Masaki will be _fine_. He just needs to breathe.

And he does exactly that—he finishes wiping his face and lets out a shuddering breath.

“Lesgo.”

He turns his back on Thancred and starts walking. The Scions send each other baffled looks before following him.

* * *

As much as Masaki had wanted to nap for two days straight, Ishgard has plunged itself into chaos yet again. And, really, he should’ve seen this coming.

Masaki dives for Maelie just as the priest lets go of her. He begins to slide off the platform, but he manages to catch the edge with one hand and the girl’s wrist with his other.

Okay. Okay, he can do this.

“I-I got you,” he says to the terrified girl hanging below him, offering a reassuring grin. “Dun worry, I got y—”

Pain lances through his arm. He glances up. Oh. That’s a knife in his arm. Did the priest stab him? _Rude._ His grip begins to slip from the edge.

Without thinking, he swings Maelie towards the platform. She shrieks, but catches the edge just in time. Masaki sees someone help her up. He breathes a sigh of relief.

Then he remembers the knife jutting out of his arm. _Right._ Okay. He can do this. His arm is trembling from the pain and bearing most of his weight. He manages to grab onto the platform with his other hand. Someone grabs his arms, trying to pull him up. But he’s too heavy, and his injured arm is too shaky to be of any use.

Someone else’s hand curls around his arm, but the resulting sharp pain of the knife shocks Masaki into letting go. Someone—he doesn’t know—tries to tighten their grip on him but there’s too much slick blood. And suddenly he’s falling through terrifying yalms of open air. There is nothing but wind in all four directions and the sensation is disorienting enough to nauseate him.

He squeezes his eyes shut.

* * *

When Masaki wakes up, it’s to a godsawful headache and a stiff, sore feeling in his arm.

“Nnrgh…”

His eyes flutter open to a pale ceiling and muffled light. He squints. What time is it?

He gently pushes himself up on his good arm to try and get his bearings.

He’s in a chirurgeon’s station, he thinks. The walls are warm in color and the bedsheets are far more comfortable than they ought to be. There’s something familiar about the scent here… is he back at Lord Edmont’s residence?

“That was very foolish of you.”

Masaki snaps his head towards the voice and regrets it immediately. Thancred is _glaring_ at him from his spot on the wall, where he is standing with crossed arms and a bent leg, looking like he has been brooding there for a while. ( _And_ Masaki’s head protests from the sharp movement with a painful throb.)

But Masaki narrows his eyes back, tipping his chin up defiantly.

“No regrets.” he rasps. It is _never_ foolish to risk his life for innocents like Maelie.

“Are you just going to throw your life away at every given opportunity, then?” Thancred hisses.

Masaki recoils. He’s never heard Thancred get that angry before.

“Is same thing with fighting primals,” he murmurs.

“It is decidedly _not_ the same thing.” Thancred argues as he pushes off the wall and strides towards Masaki’s bedside. “At least you have others to stop you from running to your death. Today, you _fell off_ the top of the Vault when Y’shtola was already there to teleport the child to safety. Today, you needlessly risked your life for—”

“ _I had to_.” Masaki growls. He blinks, surprised at how much anger there is in his voice. But he stubbornly glares up at a stony-faced Thancred.

“You had to,” Thancred echoes flatly. “You don’t even know her, yet she’s important enough to die for?”

Masaki wrenches his eyes away to glare holes into his blankets. The back of his neck feels hot.

“The fact is that you’re a bleeding heart, and you somehow feel a need to protect every helpless thing you come across.” Thancred says, his voice turning somewhat gentle. “But you _can’t_ , Masaki. That’s the thing. And you need to live with that.”

Masaki feels like his lungs are full of fire as he hunches in on himself. His eyes prickle with hot tears, because Thancred is right, and Masaki already knows all of this. It should feel condescending to hear, except, somehow, Thancred makes the truth sound… comforting, in a morbid sense. _Sometimes a warrior is fortunate just to save himself_. Masaki remembers someone saying that to him, once.

But he doesn’t want to dream of empty eyes staring at him, silently accusing him for not saving them. He’s very tired of those dreams. He’s very tired of this life and death business. He presses the heel of his free hand against his eyelids. _Breathe_.

“‘M alive.” he mumbles. He wiggles his fingers in a mock celebratory gesture. “Thas all tha’ matters.”

When he finally gathers enough courage to peek out from the shield of his hand, Thancred’s eye has softened considerably. (It’s still strange to see him with one eye instead of two.) He is gentle when he wraps his fingers around the bandaged area of Masaki’s arm, stroking his thumb over the white cotton.

“What matters to _me_ ,” he says slowly, “is a lot more than that.”

Masaki stares blankly at the fingers curled around his bandaged wrist. There are… hints of some sort being laid out in front of him, but he is having a hard time making sense of them. Is he missing something here? He looks up at Thancred. His smile is… disarmingly fond. Masaki isn’t sure what to feel at the moment.

“What?” he murmurs.

“I would very much appreciate it if you didn’t throw yourself into danger like it’s your job to give everyone gray hairs,” Thancred says, a tad bluntly. “For one, that is an exercise in futility. Half of us already have white hair. And two, I would like you better alive _and_ in one piece so I could spend more time with you.”

Masaki stares at him like he has grown a second head.

“You what,” he says flatly.

There’s some gleeful, hysterical part of his mind that’s somehow convinced this means that Thancred _likes him back_. But that doesn’t make any sense, because Thancred is still mad at him for falling off the top of the Vault. Another distracted part finds this all funny, because Haurchefant would have probably been _excited_ to hear that the site of tragedy turned into one of heroism or something as ridiculous.

Thancred looks uncomfortable. Suddenly Masaki wants to slap himself. _Of course_ , Thancred is trying to comfort him but he’s acting like an ungrateful brat. Masaki needs to rectify this situation.

He works his jaw, trying fit words together in his head, when he feels Thancred let go of his wrist.

“It seems you need more time to rest,” he says in a carefully neutral tone. Masaki looks up to try and read his face—which is _frustratingly_ inscrutable. Gods damn him for being good at hiding his tells. “I’ll—”

He grabs Thancred’s wrist without thinking. Thancred blinks at him.

“Dun go,” Masaki croaks. Inwardly, he cringes at the rough quality of his voice. (What did he do to his throat to sound so awful?) He licks his chapped lips. “Jus’… stay here.”

For a long moment, there is no movement. Then Masaki feels the bed dip under Thancred’s weight. He tries to ignore the way his heart swoops from the movement, keeping his eyes glued to the blankets on his lap. Right. Right, they’re going to _talk_ about things like mature adults or something. Or maybe they can just stew in silence while drinking in each other’s company―Masaki isn’t opposed to that at all. Still… he feels the need to clear up the odd tension in the room.

“S’rry,” he murmurs, still loosely gripping Thancred’s wrist. “‘M… not good. With stuff like this.”

Thancred is quiet. Masaki swallows despite his dry throat, and slowly, gently curls his fingers around Thancred’s palm. His heart is frantically beating against his ribcage.

“I missed you,” he whispers. The words are as fragile as his wavering voice.

He braces himself for Thancred’s reaction. Then he feels his fingers slip through the spaces between his own. He doesn’t have enough time to react, because Thancred is tipping his jaw up and staring at him with that warm hazel eye. Masaki’s heart has probably stopped beating some time ago.

“And I, you.” Thancred murmurs back. And then he kisses him.

Masaki can’t move at all in the first few seconds. His head is still spinning. Then his eyes flutter shut and he kisses Thancred back, fervently, with all the grace of a nervous, gawky teenager. It has been so long since he’s last kissed anyone. And maybe it shows, because Thancred seems to realize this rather quickly―if his soft chuckle is anything to go by―and leads their kiss. He gently nips at Masaki’s bottom lip.

Masaki gasps, and suddenly Thancred’s tongue is in his mouth. His head grows dizzier than before―a feat he didn’t know was possible until now―as Thancred does something magical with his tongue. Masaki feels fingers gently thread through his hair, and he sighs into Thancred’s mouth. Then, all too soon, Thancred pulls away. Masaki wants to kiss him for longer, but he finds that he has to catch his breath. Very inconvenient, that.

A thumb brushes over his lip. He opens his eyes to see Thancred grinning at him. Masaki lazily smiles back, his heart becoming so _full_ that he feels like might burst.

“Did you enjoy that?” Thancred asks, because he is silly and polite like that.

Masaki huffs out a laugh and nods. His gaze wanders towards the black fabric covering the left side of Thancred’s face, and his smile wavers. He is careful when he cups Thancred’s cheek, brushing tentative fingers over his new scruff (which is strangely rough to the touch), and pauses at the edge of his bandanna.

“Is… is ok?” Masaki asks quietly.

Thancred doesn’t seem to mind at all, slowly untying the bandanna from his head and letting the fabric fall between them. Masaki doesn’t dare look up until Thancred tips his chin up again, a wry grin slowly tugging at his lips. It’s then that Masaki really, _really_ looks at Thancred for the first time since he came back.

He stares at the pale scars crackling across Thancred’s left cheek like lightning bolts. Then he leans in to press a chaste kiss to them, his fingers hovering over the purple tattoo on the side of Thancred’s neck. Thancred huffs a laugh, tilts his head, and catches Masaki’s lips with his own. And Masaki is all too happy to kiss him back, to wind his arms around Thancred’s shoulders and press him close as if he wants them to meld into each other.

When they part, Masaki finds that there is no breath in his lungs _again,_ and there’s just not enough space in his head to ask Thancred how he keeps stealing it. Is it a rogue thing? One of Thancred’s many talents? But one thing’s for sure:

“I love you.”

Thancred blinks, startled hazel and silver glittering back at him. Masaki _refuses_ to take the words back, because he’s more certain than ever that he loves this overdramatic, silly, wonderful man with all of his foolish heart. After losing him not once but _twice_ , he’s not sure if he can take another one of Thancred’s disappearances.  _Especially_  after having his mind so destroyed by just a few kisses. And it’s absolutely _no fair_ that Thancred is so kind, and patient, and charming, and witty, and… and…

And so quiet right now that Masaki can feel his chest being crushed from the inside.

He isn’t sure how he has the courage to keep Thancred’s gaze. Those hazel and silver eyes shift from surprise to… conflict? Yes, Masaki reads conflict in Thancred’s frown. Whatever Thancred is struggling with, Masaki wants to help him however he can; whether it’s listening, comforting, or staying—he’ll do anything. But... he’s not sure if that’s the right thing to say right now. Or… well, if even saying _anything_ is right. Masaki purses his lips, letting his eyes drift off to the side.

“… Are you sure?”

Masaki snaps his eyes back. Thancred looks so _devastated_ , so vulnerable. The gears in Masaki’s mind stutter to a halt—Thancred needing reassurance is a bit of a novelty. Technically, this entire conversation is a novelty. Masaki’s head feels scrambled and empty simultaneously, because how does one reply in this situation? So he settles for the best option: nodding vigorously.

Apparently, nodding is enough to startle a laugh out of Thancred. The sound makes Masaki’s cheeks warm and something lovely bloom inside his chest. Thancred’s laugh is… mellow, scratchy, and slightly crackly at the edges, like the pages of a well-loved book.

Masaki can feel himself fall a little more in love with him.

Thancred runs his hand through his pale hair, his lips upturned in a small, disbelieving grin. Masaki is sure he’s wearing a similar expression, and his stomach won’t stop doing odd flips every other second. The sensation heightens when Thancred cups Masaki’s face with reverent, calloused fingers (Masaki is sure his face is bright red at this point). He can’t suppress the giddy shudder as Thancred brushes over the scales along his neck.

“Well, I’m honored,” Thancred breathes. He noses along the curve of Masaki’s cheek. “Your kind revere actions over words, yes?”

Masaki is dizzy from the close proximity, but he manages a nod.

“Then allow me to show you how I feel,” Thancred murmurs.

Masaki melts as Thancred kisses him chastely, softly, before dotting more kisses along his collarbones. Then he tenses at the feel of fingers teasing the edge of his shirt. Thancred freezes.

This is—this is nothing like before. Masaki shouldn’t just… he’s okay. He’s not having a panic attack while _Thancred_ of all people is kissing him silly. Those fingers are not blindly groping, grabbing at whatever flesh they can find—they are gentle, careful, and… and… pulling away with Thancred, who is staring at him in concern. Guilt curdles in the pit of Masaki’s stomach.

“I… I—”

“Tis alright, love,” Thancred says, idly stroking Masaki’s hair. Masaki leans towards his hand. It feels nice. “We probably shouldn’t be doing anything too… _intensive_ ,” his voice lowers at that word, “seeing that you’re still a recovering patient.”

Masaki feels fuzzy when Thancred’s voice dips, but—he blinks in confusion for a few seconds. Recovering patient?

Then it clicks. Ah, right; his arm. The one that is bandaged. He stares at it as if he has trouble believing he even has an arm. Didn’t someone stab him or something? His memory is a little blurry—maybe from the adrenaline. Thancred snorts fondly, pressing a gentle kiss to Masaki’s temple.

“We needn’t rush at all. Let us take our time with… this.”

Then Masaki snaps his eyes back to Thancred, in time to catch the faintest hint of red staining Thancred’s cheeks. A slow smile spreads over Masaki’s lips, like dawnlight peeking over the horizon. He finds Thancred’s blush _adorable_.

Thancred cups Masaki’s cheek. Masaki nuzzles into his touch.

Then Masaki realizes Thancred is speaking; “If… If you need to talk… but, of course, you needn’t—”

Masaki tenses. Seeing Thancred’s pity will probably only make him feel miserable. Which doesn’t make sense _,_ since they’ve just figured out their feelings for each other. (Reciprocated feelings are still new territory for Masaki, but he thinks they’re the best thing he’s experienced on this star so far. Aside from food, that is.) But if—if they’re to move forward with this… _thing_ between them, he should be open and honest.

… Not now, though. He can share anything else, but—not this. He licks his lips nervously.

“I… Later,” he mumbles. “Jus’ wanna be with you.”

“Okay,” Thancred says, like it’s that easy.

And surely enough, it _is_ that easy, just being with him. Masaki isn’t sure how much time has passed until he startles at the knock on the door. Thancred sighs, as if he’d expected it, and reluctantly pulls away from Masaki (much to the latter’s protests).

“The Lord Commander and the others will want to check in on you,” Thancred murmurs apologetically.

Masaki wilts from both the absence of Thancred’s touch _and_ the guilt of forgetting his duties. The others must be so worried. What if the Warrior of Light can’t fight anymore? There’s still the matter of Nidhogg to deal with. And those strange Warriors of Darkness. And—

His thoughts fizzle out when Thancred kisses his head.

“Don’t fret so much, love,” Thancred says. Masaki colors at his pet name. It’s nice being called _love_ like that. “We can be together later, if you’d like. For as _long_ as you’d like.”

Masaki likes the sound of that; he nods eagerly. Thancred chuckles and runs a gentle hand through his hair.

“Then we will see each other again soon.”

Thancred smiles again, warmly, before he pulls away. Masaki tries not to look disappointed as he watches him leave.

Soon after, Alphinaud and Y’shtola enter the room, closely followed by Aymeric. There’s an odd, knowing grin on Y’shtola’s face, but Masaki doesn’t think much of it; he is happy to see them. Even when they start scolding him for leaping off a tall building, for some reason (as if _that’s_ the worst thing he’s done).

He can’t keep the dopey, lopsided grin off his face. The warmth of Thancred’s lips doesn’t leave him for the rest of the day.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> i'mma be real with u chief, i'm kind of tempted to add another chapter solely for smut. but i've written enough wol/npc content as it is dfjslk


End file.
